An Adventure in Magic and Time
by DelightingInMyMadness
Summary: Harry was killed by Voldemort during the 'final' battle. The Ministry has been destroyed. The Order is set up in a rural safe house. Kingsley is the new leader of The Rebellion, as it is called by the Regime of Pure Wizardry. Hermione was sent back to 1946 to kill Tom before the terror can begin. The Dark Lord won't go down without a fight, but neither will she. Rated T for now.


**I have come to an impasse on In The Garden. As usually happens when I write, I have come to a fork in the story line and do not yet know which road to take. So while I work out all those kinks, I bring you this. Keep in mind that I try to describe the characters as they are in the books, not in the movies, and where details are lacking I take some creative liberties. Tom is only ever described as being very tall with dark hair, so the rest is how I see him. Really, if you haven't read the books, then this might get a little confusing. I'll try to keep in mind that some of you haven't read the books when explain things, but if it's not satisfactory, send me a PM, review, or check the Harry Potter Wiki. They have their stuff together. **

**I do not own Harry Potter. **

When Kingsley had asked her, she had jumped at the chance to serve the order. She had been so excited about finally being able to help the Rebellion. To finally do something other than sit in the safe house, hoping that he hadn't figured out where they were located, hoping that everyone who allowed out would come back safe, hoping that maybe it would be over soon.

Hope was all she had had since the battle at Hogwarts two years ago. She had seen him fall, had been just a few yards away when he'd taken the curse. She had seen the life fade from his beautiful green eyes, had watched him slump to the ground, motionless. She had prayed and begged to whoever was up there that he was okay, that he had survived the curse a second time.

But that had not been the case. Their hero had fallen at the feet of The Dark Lord. And The Dark Lord had smiled that day. His lips had split and curved in total happiness at the death of The Boy Who Lived.

Hermione remembered being shocked that he had dimples. Noticing such a trivial thing seemed so foolish now, but she had not been in the best state at the time. Dimples seemed like a most amiable feature for such an evil man to possess.

It was best not to dwell on things like that now. She had bigger thing to focus on at the moment. Her mission, mainly.

"1946," Kingsley had said. "All of our agents are too old to ever successfully blend in at Hogwarts, but you are young enough to have just graduated. He only had a couple horcruxes at most, and nowhere near the followers he has now. It is also the year before he disappeared for those 10 years. After he goes on his hiatus, there won't be any hope. Kill the horcruxes and kill him. Before he becomes too powerful. Before he makes another."

And so Hermione had went. She had taken the Order's only time turner and ventured back to 1946, when Lord Voldemort had still been Tom Marvolo Riddle, a shop boy at Borgin and Burkes. A very skilled and persuasive one, but a shop boy none the less.

It was with that thought in mind that Hermione apparated from the field where the safe house would one day be built to the Leakey Cauldron. The trip made her feel... off. Slightly nauseous and faint. Definitely not the best state to be in at the moment, but she would muster through. Renting a room and stowing away the trunk of 40s apparel she had taken with her, Hermione checked the clock. "4. It's a Thursday. I'll go down, grab a bite and head down Diagon Alley to scope out Vol- Tom." Smoothing her hair and dress in the smeared mirror of her room, our heroine mentally prepped herself by running over the customs in her head. _Chivalry is not yet dead. They kiss hands. You are expected to be dainty and poised and controlled. And for Merlin's sake, don't go on about anythings rights. Conservatives. They're conservatives. _With that thought, she left her room and headed down the stairs to the bar.

It was just as shabby as she remembered. Just as dark and smoke-filled. The few customers in the pub were scattered about, quietly drinking cold mugs of butter beer and munching on sandwiches that seemed to be a bit stale. Hermione took a seat at the end of the bar closest to the courtyard door and far away from the other patrons. No need to get acquainted and change history anymore than she already planned to.

She ordered a sandwich and tea when the bar keep came around, hoping hers would be relatively fresh and it would help settle her stomach.

As she was tucking in to her meal, the door she sat beside opened and a tall man with jet black hair walked in. Hermione immediately noticed him. It was her job to pay attention to her surroundings, to be constantly vigilant in case of a Riddle sighting. This man, however, was no hardship to watch. She would have even if it wasn't her responsibility. She almost abandoned the pretense of nonchalance when he sat down next to her, but thought better of it. _You cannot be drooling over some bonbon. You have to find Riddle, no easy task on your best day. And you don't even know what he looks like. Or his schedule. Or where he lives. Or if he's even still here or if you're too late. Just go to Borgin and Burkes and ask-_

"Excuse me, miss, but I think that whatever is wrong is not the sandwich's fault."

The stranger. He was talking to her. Hermione looked down at the sad excuse for food. It hadn't been very pretty when she had gotten it, but now it was squished and ragged from her unconscious hand wringing. Hermione sighed. _Oh well._

"Something bothering you, miss?" the stranger asked kindly, his dark grey eyes searching her face.

"Just thinking," she replied, openly studying him as well. The more she looked, the more she liked. His slightly tousled hair, his high cheek bones, his strong jaw, his soft-_ get back on track. The mission. That is why we are here. _Frustrated with herself and her distraction, Hermione took a vicious bite of her mangled ham and cheese. None of this was making her feel any better.

"Are you new around here?" he asked innocently. "I've never seen you before."

Hermione smiled to herself. "Are you asking me if I come here often?" she asked jokingly.

He looked confused. "I suppose so... Is that a bad thing?"

"Of course not. And to answer you first question, I'm visiting London on business and thought I'd stop into the famous Leaky Cauldron and stay for a bit." Hermione was confused. Was that not a pick up line in the 40s? Or was the wizarding world behind in the world of flirting? _Was she really flirting with a stranger while she was on business? _Another angry bite at her sandwich.

The stranger nodded. "I hope you enjoy your stay, miss..." he trailed off.

"Jean Baggins," she answered with a false name. _Thank you, Tolkien, _she thought_._

"Pleasure to meet you, Miss Baggins," He said, offering her his hand. Hermione accepted. He raised her hand to his lips for a gentle kiss on her knuckles.

Her stomach flipped. A different kind of flip than the ones it had been doing since she'd arrived in the past... or was it the present... Time travel made her head hurt. In more ways than one.

But that... she had known that they still kissed hands and all, but no one had ever done it to_ her_. It was more than charming and sent delicious chills racing through her.

Once she had recovered, Hermione tried to responded in kind. "The pleasure is all mine.."

She felt an extra powerful rush of lightheadedness before she could finished her sentence.

She fainted.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Hermione awoke with a pounding head ache. Involuntarily, she gasped. _Nope, can't move that yet, _she thought after she tried to sit up.

"You're awake."

Hermione ignored her stiff and sore body and whipped her head up to look for the voice, having thought herself alone in her room.

"You fainted, in case you were curious. Almost conked your head on a stool. The waiter told me your room number and I wanted to make sure you were okay, Miss Baggins."

Hermione finally located the source. That stranger from the bar was sitting in a wing-back chair by the fireplace, watching her intently.

"How'd I get up here?" she questioned, mind still addled from her spell below.

The stranger stood and walked a few paces toward her bed. "I packed you, miss. Caught you before you hit the ground. Scared me a little when you just slumped over like that."

Hermione was touched. "How kind," she said, smiling at him. She felt better than she had. Maybe her body had needed rest from all the 'traveling' she had done that day. But simply fainting couldn't have restored her strength... Even channeling magic through an object like a time turner would take a lot out of you. Especially when you considered all the magic she had to use to go back over fifty years. "How long was I out?" she ask, swinging her legs over the side and wobbling slightly before gaining her balance.

"An hour and a half. Maybe two. I gave you some basic healing potions from my bag. I didn't know what had caused your spell, so I just gave you something to help you rest and regain your strength. I hope you don't mind."

Hermione pondered this for a moment, before deciding that he was trustworthy. "If he was going to do something, he had almost two hours to do it," she thought optimistically.

"Thank you for all your help. I don't know what came over me down there," Hermione said, smoothing out her skirt.

The stranger walked closer to her still. "It was no trouble Miss Baggins, really. Always happy to be the knight in shining armor. Especially for such a pretty damsel."

His voice was silk. Smooth, soft, enticing in every way possible. Hermione found herself blushing and looking down at her plain brown flats. "You flatter me, sir," she mumbled. She wasn't used to male attention. Or anyone's attention, at least recently. Ron hadn't talked to her, or anyone else, in six months. And everyone else left her alone in the library. The last remaining mentally-sound member of the Golden Trio had been relegated to research yet again. Not that it bothered her. Much. But sometimes, when she would head upstairs to what had been Regulus' private library, she would have to walk past his door. And hear the mumblings. Sometimes, he would wail like a child. It hurt to hear what was left of her best friend cry in such anguish.

Hermione was stirred from her morbid thoughts by the sound of her door creaking. The stranger was leaving. "Thanks again for catching me and packing me and... Thanks for everything, Mr..." Hermione realized she was rambling. And that she didn't even know this guy's name.

The stranger bowed jokingly. "Riddle. Tom Riddle, miss. At your service."

_Found him._


End file.
